


The Whims of Fate

by ChaoticEther



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticEther/pseuds/ChaoticEther
Summary: Yang's a scientist. Blake's a hopeless romantic. What's between them is pure chemistry.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 1
Kudos: 61





	The Whims of Fate

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

“Move in with me.” Blake asks as if there’s no alternative, “I, uh, I have a spare room, I mean.  _ We  _ have a spare room.”

“Shame,” Yang’s lips tease themselves into a smile, “I was hoping you and I would have to share.”

There’s a certain ease with which they fall into each other. Blake’s looking for a fresh start, too busy losing herself in lilac that she barely notices her heart falling out of rhythm, gaze tracking downwards over a partly-open flannel shirt and tight jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Yang wants nothing more than to spend all her time with the raven-haired girl whose first instinct was to ask her to move in. She’s seen Blake before, books pressed to her chest and tattoos peeking out of shorts and t-shirts. But now, they’re third-years; just in time for eternity together.  _ Spend it with me,  _ she thinks, lets the idea bleed into her eyes,  _ I’m not going anywhere else without you. _

“I’m Blake, by the way. Belladonna.” A slender hand with nails painted vibrant purple finds its way between the pair, outstretched.

“Yang!” Enthusiastic as always.

For a moment the planet stills, the blonde’s lips pressed to a relative stranger’s knuckles, eyebrow raised as though prompting a less subdued reaction. It works, nervous laughter erupting from the beauty in front of her, ears perking up like they’re hearing an entirely new sound. Maybe they are. Blake pulls away, hides back inside her black denim jacket and ripped blue t-shirt as quickly as she extricated herself from them for the handshake. She takes a second to compose herself, and that’s all that’s needed to fall in love. Fingers dragged roughly through bangs; stray hairs tucked neatly behind one ear back where they belong. And that smile. Oh, what suitors would do for that smile.

“So… Yeah. If you give me your number, I’ll send you the list of stuff I need to get your room sorted.”

“Smooth.” Yang says, still taking the scroll and tapping her number into the contacts screen.

“What’re you even studying, anyway?” Blake tacks the question on almost as an afterthought.

“ _ The Science of Attraction, _ ” she announces, gesturing grandiosely before breaking, “not really. I’m here for Engineering, and so’s my sister, as of next year. What’s a pretty girl such as yourself doing?”

“Quantum Physics. Quite literally the ‘science of attraction’.”

“Maybe you could teach me a thing or two over drinks sometime,” Yang smirks, hand flying up at her side as she walks away.

Blake watches, awestruck, until her scroll vibrates in her trouser pocket. A message from her most recent contact;

_ tonight. i’d like to go for drinks tonight _

The honesty draws an earnest giggle out of her, smile refusing to leave as she types a response;

_ That can be arranged. College bar, 8PM? _

_ sure _

_ you won’t miss me i’ll be the hottest girl in the room _

Yang decides not to tell her date that she’d spend the next five hours staring at a clock until she met her again.

Of course, her assertion was correct. She’s the hottest girl in  _ any  _ room, but tonight? She had to appeal to Blake’s sensibilities. Sitting on a table built around one of the bar’s oak supports, wearing a white sundress adorned with blooming deadly nightshades that shows off the dragon tattoo down her left arm.  _ Atropa belladonna,  _ a joke she hoped her date would appreciate just as much as she did. That’s when she steps into view, black hair loose over her shoulders, still attached to stars hanging in the night sky outside, yellow clutch purse contrasting against a maroon blazer and jeans with a dark grey band t-shirt. Breathing’s no longer second nature, slowing as her pulse does the opposite, pounding against the side of her neck.

“Already taking my name?” Blake jokes, “it suits you.”

“And  _ you  _ look good in a suit-jacket. To absolutely no one’s surprise.”

Something’s different. She’s gone on dates before, but it was never like this; never real, never enough to make the butterflies in her stomach rise and flutter in her lungs with every word.  _ It’s easy,  _ she notes, allows herself a brief second staring into golden irises before looking elsewhere, cradling a vodka cranberry. Somehow, she feels neither of them wants to be here. That they’d rather be alone together, talking while everything passes them by. She figures it’s worth a shot, at the very least.

“Hey,” softer than Yang intended, but it still makes Blake’s ears turn in her direction. “I know I said we’d go for drinks, but do you wanna get out of here? It’s a little too… Busy for me to enjoy myself.”

“I’ve been thinking the same ever since I sat down. Plus, the bartender keeps eyeing you.” She lifts the bottle of beer to her lips, effortlessly draining it as realisation settles on her company’s face.

“Oh, that’s just Sun. Best sparring partner you could ever ask for.” The blonde lets a smirk slip before grabbing Blake’s free hand and smiling wider, “come on, I’ll tell you more when we find somewhere quiet.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

_ It’s all a coincidence,  _ Blake tells herself, practically dragged out of the bar by one arm. Of course, that’s just a lie to keep herself sane, pretending she didn’t deliberately make a beeline for Yang. Running’s the one thing she’s accustomed to, but even her natural state is thrown off-kilter when those violet eyes look back. Finally stopping, A clock tower rings out for nine o’clock, the pair sprawled in an empty park overlooking the city, yellow lights giving way to purples and dark blues. Grass stains Yang’s dress green, Blake’s blazer draped over her shoulders to stay warm in the September chill.

“At least tell me your house is warmer than this,” Yang breaks the silence, breaths condensing as they hit cool air.

“No promises. Weiss likes it cold, and Ilia’s taken to calling her the Ice Queen.” The mundaneness of it all causes Blake to chuckle.

“If I knew that was all it took to make you laugh, I wouldn’t have spent good money on this dress.”

“That’s not it. It’s just… I had someone- a former friend, a roommate who became a monster to me. When I got away, I realised; I didn’t really have anywhere I belonged without him. Until I met my friends.”

“I know  _ exactly  _ where you belong, Miss Belladonna.” Yang emphasises her point by rolling over onto her elbows, chin resting in her palms. “With me.”

“Oh?” Blake’s reddened cheeks give her away, relaxing again, “What makes you think I’ll be sticking around?”

“A hunch. Maybe you really will have to change the standard model to include love.”

The night sky seems like as perfect a place as any to escape to when the conversation dies down. A comforting darkness instead of one that bites and gnaws at every inch of Blake’s being, infinity made visible for a short time. She almost wants to extinguish the starlight, to show other people what Yang’s like to her; burning far brighter than anything else the universe could muster. Their hands interlace and she swears one of them blinks out, replaced by blonde hair and cool eyes. Maybe the alcohol’s finally hitting her; maybe it’s love. The words claw at her throat until she can’t stop them anymore.

“Call me crazy if you want, but I think we’re meant to be together.” Just as cliché as she’d imagined.

“You’re not  _ crazy _ , crazy, then. Meeting you was like… Like coming home, and I’d been away for a  _ long _ time.” Yang admits, turning onto her side to let their faces meet.

“Does everyone sound this cheesy when they’re in love?”

“I think it comes with the territory.”

It’s strange how quickly people adapt to calling a new place a home. For Weiss, it was two weeks. For Ilia, it was when she’d finished unpacking. For Yang and Blake? It was the day Yang had to move away for winter break. Three months together and faced with more than a week apart, her rucksack crashes against the floor when she hears footfalls behind her on the stairs. There was a sliver of hope that she might be able to leave without having to face the goodbye until then. A warm hand traces along the edge of the young woman’s features as she automatically sighs into it. Blake has a way of speaking without words, writing a novel with just a look, a whole series with a touch. She’s still in her pyjamas, purple silk falling loose from her figure as tears fight past resistance. Yang smiles, and it’s only when Blake becomes aware of something pressed into her other palm by a hand in fingerless gloves that she realises why; another ticket to Patch, departing a few hours into the afternoon.

“Did you really think I’d leave you alone?” The taller girl asks, rhetorically, pulling Blake into a hug and placing a kiss on her hair.  _ It’s not a home without you. _

“But my parents-”

“Already checked. Your Dad seems to like me.”

Another laugh that lights up the room.

“How long do I have to pack?”

“Long enough that I can do _this,_ ” Yang’s lips brush against her flatmate’s cheek, only backing away with some measure of reluctance. “There’s extra if you’re done quickly,” she taunts, already working the buttons on her winter coat and sitting back down.

Seconds pour into minutes as she plays idly on her scroll, ticking of the wall clock fading to nothing along with the various bangs, Blake remaining heavy-handed as ever with her wardrobe. All of it snaps back into focus when black hair hangs itself on either side of Yang’s face. Tilting her head back enough that their eyes meet, she offers little resistance to the soft sigh rising from her lungs at the sight; purple beanie coupled with a matching puffy jacket, spray-on jeans contrasting her own loose, stonewashed pair, complete with ankle boots mostly to match Yang’s own height.

“You ready?” Blake asks, head tilting and hands clasped behind her back.

“One last thing,” Yang stands, gaze softening, “a kiss goodbye.”

“Yang, we’re going to the same pl-”

Her argument is lost to a pair of hands interlocking around her neck, blood crashing in waves against them and into her face. Logic loosens its iron grasp, emotions slipping through the cracks, open fissures tinted purple by amethyst. Set-in-stone laws come unstuck, Yang’s very existence seeming to defy nature’s course. _ Perhaps uncertainty isn’t so bad,  _ Blake thinks, lips wavering centimetres from the blonde’s own.

“I love you.” Whispered so lowly that Blake only knows the words from feeling them.

“Of course, you do,” she giggles, finally allowing space between them once again, “it’s basic chemistry.”

“Science jokes?” Yang’s eyelids lower, “Science jokes. I  _ must  _ be having an effect on you.”

“Not really. You’re just the only one who laughs.”

The trip to Patch is fairly uneventful; Tai arrived on time for once, still in shorts despite the snow.  _ It’s a Xiao Long thing,  _ he’d claimed, joking that Yang was only wearing more out of politeness. Now, back at the house, they’re alone once more, limited to sharing a room that looked exactly like Yang left it, muted gold bedding still not properly made and blackout curtains smothering most of the natural light. That is, until Blake throws them open, eyes fluttering closed and ears perking in the warmth of sunset. She’s used to warmer; Menagerie is far enough south that Christmas is in summer, after all. Granted, she could get used to a permanent cold if it meant spending her days with Yang. It’s only when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist that she remembers she isn’t alone in the room, leaning back against the blonde’s chest and into the embrace.

“You really are beautiful. You know that, right?” The words leave Yang’s mouth before she can stop them, soft and smooth against the shell of Blake’s ear.

“So, I’ve been told,” Blake practically watches as the compliment runs off her back like water. “Are you just gonna stand there gawking? Or do you plan on getting changed sometime in the next decade?”

“For you, baby? Anything.” She misses the tint to her girlfriend’s cheeks as she unzips her suitcase.

Blake’s the one that encouraged the change of outfit, combat boots laced up to her knees with purple woollen leggings and a thin blue turtleneck beneath her coat. Despite the weather, Yang’s sweater covers everything but her shoulders, hands tucked into the sleeves as far as she can manage before being buried in the pockets of her jeans. Their arms link as they walk, puddles from melting snow reflecting streetlights and splashing as they make their way to the restaurant Tai has a reservation for.

“See? I’m not cold,” Yang says, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Okay, fine. Yang Xiao Long, I officially owe you one drink.” Blake responds, mock defeat in her voice.

“How about you owe me something else instead?” She turns on her heel, stopping very deliberately, “look up.”

A pair of mistletoe leaves hangs above the pair, held in place by Yang’s own hand. The raven-haired girl stifles a chuckle, tries to pretend it was a noise of consternation instead;

“Funny.”

Of course, they both know it’s all an act. She acquiesces, fingers tightening around the loose material of her partner’s sweater, standing on tiptoe to make their mouths meet. Everything they do is immutable, each action perfectly in time with their surroundings. Stomachs unfurl, hearts fighting with ribs to fall in step with each other instead of the world. Even now, Blake wants to break the rules, to make their very atoms touch just because it’s closer than they already are.  _ That’s how much I love you,  _ she thinks,  _ enough to start believing in miracles. _ Yang kisses her back like she’d said the words aloud, brushing her bangs to the side of her face and lingering there as she pulls back far enough to let their eyes meet.

“We’re never breaking up,” Yang announces, hands interlacing behind her head, “not after that.”

“What makes you so sure?” Blake asks, watches as the girl opposite her pouts.

“The bar’s too high now. For both of us. Think about it! Your next partner would have to beat  _ Yang Xiao Long. _ ”

“You’re right. It  _ is  _ hard to beat a soulmate.”

“We’re soulmates now?”

“Oh yeah,” Blake affirms, sarcasm tinting her words, “Star-crossed lovers, red string of fate, all that stuff. That’s us.”

“I bring you home to meet my Dad for Christmas and that’s ‘fate’ now?  _ Real  _ soulmates would have found each other again by complete coincidence.”

“Screw that.” Her grin spreads from ear to ear as she says it, “why would I go through all the melodrama?”

“It’s more fun to read.” Yang shrugs, walking a few more paces before turning to prompt Blake to join her.

They both know the universe is built on probability. That’s why their arms interlock and reduce the chance of their separation. Leaving everything to the whims of fate isn’t their style.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the Bumbleby zine!


End file.
